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trample down evil like an inflated fish bladder, so to
renown, and victory, and then the laurel wreath of victory is
placed on one’s head.
Dogs, blind chickens and so on. All this fooling around is
irrational, I’m not a child any more. Jacob’s heart beat in
resentment.
“The best one of you will be rewarded with a photograph or
picture,” mama says craftily.
‘Terribly necessary!” Jacob growls to himself.
The light goes out, and squealing children search for each
other, but the celebrant silently steals from the room and in
a run heads for the mirror over the sink.
The underworld is revealed – ceiling at the North Pole, but
floor at the South Pole. The personages are already there. In
front, tarnished copper gates. These are bitten by the meat
grinder, mixing the copper into a puzzle with its foot. In
front is the ferocious dog Jerjomenko with eight heads,
pointed fangs, that spit flame, flames of gas, because
infinite gas joins them from openings called the umbilical
cords of the fetus. No one could get along with this terrible
beast, but the kitten Brenci had roamed into the
underworld behind he personages, and that was the last
straw for the dog, it threw itself upon the miniature tiger.